


Something Nice for Harriet

by oddmonster



Category: Miami Vice
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-03-11
Updated: 2007-03-11
Packaged: 2017-10-13 18:31:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/140364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oddmonster/pseuds/oddmonster





	Something Nice for Harriet

"You do realize, she's a fish, right?" Stan stood in the middle of the kitchen, arms crossed against his chest, glaring at his partner. "A fish."

Zito rested his chin on his arms and stared into Harriet's fishbowl, resting on the counter in the kitchen. The neon glow from the blue Elvis light hanging above the bar colored the water in the bowl and highlighted the veins in Harriet's long orange fins. Larry wondered what he looked like to her. Was he just a peach blob? Did she recognize him? Or Stan? His breath fogged the glass, and he used the palm trees on the collar of his shirt to wipe it clear. "So what if she's a fish? I think she'd appreciate something new to stare at. Keep her, you know, stimulated." Harriet began another lazy circuit of her round glass home and Zito continued to stare, captivated by the way her fins trailed along behind her. Her ventral fin, which nearly touched the bottom of the bowl, had a notch taken out of it, along the side, and each time he saw it, Larry wondered how she'd lost it, what tragedy of the fish world had left its mark on her.

After his house blew up--funny, that phrase always gave him a little thrill. How many other people could start their sentences that way? Actually, he'd tried to use it as a line one night at the Blue Dolphin, late in the evening when the bar had emptied down to a couple of kids arguing over some old debts, him, and a cute brunette in a red-striped top and matching headband. At least, he thought he remembered she was cute. It hadn't worked, and Stan had wound up coming to get him, bringing him back to this apartment, and to Harriet. Anyway, after his house blew up, he hadn't bought much stuff to replace what he'd lost. None of it was insured, for one thing, but more importantly, none of it wanted replacing. He frowned as Harriet floated motionless in her bowl, fins moving only enough to keep her in one place.

Stan leaned against the counter and watched his partner stare at Harriet. He didn't quite get the fish thing, but by God Larry was attached to her. Harriet this, Harriet that. Sometimes he wondered if Zito was planning on dating that fish he talked about her so much. "Lar? She's a fish. Okay? A fish. By the time she makes it from one end of the bowl to the other, it's all new again. That's the beauty of being a fish. Just. A fish."

Switek sighed and shook his head. Shacking up with his partner wasn't quite turning out the way he'd thought. For one thing, the magazines. Switek shook his head. He figured sure, every guy he knew had a stash of 'em somewhere, but it was sort of a personal thing. And not really the sort of personal thing you left open on the coffee table. "Okay, allright, fine. Let's spend our day off--our only day off in lessee...that's right, twelve days now--combing pet stores looking for something nice for Harriet. Gee, sounds great."

"Calm down, Stan." Zito stood up. "There's no reason we both have to go. Look, I know you've been wanting to go to the beach, so go. We see enough of each other as is. You go to the beach, and I'll check out some pet stores. I'm thinking she might like a nice rock."

Stan cocked an eyebrow at his partner. "A rock."

"Maybe one with a hole she can swim through. I'll have to see what's out there."

"Lar? You've been working too hard. You've finally lost it. Why not go catch a movie instead? It's gotta be at least 90 out, and no matter how bad the movie, there will be air conditioning."

"Nah, I think I've just spent too much time cooped up in the bug van. Besides, she's a good fish and I owe her one." Zito grabbed his hat off the counter from next to the toaster. His overlong hair fought a short but valiant battle against the bucket hat before it settled down, and sort of simultaneously out.

"Owe her one?" asked Switek. "Owe her one for what?"

"I'll see you later, Stan. Stay out of the sun, 'kay buddy? Seems like you're already a little hot under the collar." Zito grinned and headed out the door.

"She's just a fish!" Switek yelled down the stairs after his partner, and the front door just next to his opened. A wizened old man in bermuda shorts and a stained undershirt stared out at Switek silently through coke bottle glasses. "He's ah, got some girl troubles," Stan told his neighbor. The old man made no comment, and shut the door.

Well, at least there's still the beach, Stan thought. He looked at Harriet's fishbowl surrounded on the kitchen counter by the detritus of two double-shifting bachelor Vice cops. Every surface was awash in newspapers, coffee cups, empty beer bottles, abandoned Chinese food cartons. Switek pulled out a trash bag and cleared the counter around Harriet with a deft sweep. True, the apartment had seemed smaller since Larry had moved in, but the break in the rent was nice, it made carpooling a snap--aw, who was he fooling? He just enjoyed hanging out with Lar. Even Harriet, he admitted, was an improvement over living alone. She wasn't much, but she continued to be the same amount of not much each day. She never demanded they spend more time with her, or sold drugs out of her bowl, or shot at them. Zito was right: for that much alone she deserved at least a rock. Stan gave up on the kitchen, and looked out across the bar to the big window at the end of the living room. If she'd enjoy a rock, why not a change of scenery? With slow, measured steps, Switek carried Harriet's bowl over to the window and gently placed it on the sill. It just fit. Still, the full sun might be too much, and he'd hate having to explain to Lar that he'd accidentally fried--Switek shook his head. He was getting as caught up with this fish as his partner. Still, just to be on the safe side, he moved her bowl down from the window sill and onto one of the side tables framing the modern black couch. The kitchen could wait. What was a little dirt between partners? There was still the beach.

Stan bounded down the stairs leading to the street, a telescope in one hand. He turned the corner of the building under full steam and knocked down a small boy with a catcher's mitt. "Whoa! Sorry buddy, didn't see ya there." He roughly yanked the boy to his feet and made perfunctory motions aimed at cleaning dust off the kid.

"Y'know, you guys might wanna take your game elsewhere. Like away from the building. Or at least away from the stairs. And the windows." The small boy, surrounded now by five others with various baseball items stared up at Stan. "Go on," he tried. "Over there. Away." Silence. "Shoo!" The kids reformed their game, and Stan had to swerve out of the way of a pitch. He turned and yelled back over his shoulder, "Shouldn't you be in school?" Another pitch, aimed where there were no players, and Switek hot-footed it over to the curb. His teal '61 Thunderbird convertible rested in the only shady spot on the street, and Stan ran a loving hand over the spotless white leather lining the inside of the passenger-side door. His apartment wasn't in a bad part of town, exactly, just an interesting one, and while he usually kept his car locked up in the parking garage, he was looking forward to taking it out for a spin. One that didn't, for once, involve staring through binoculars, listening at doors or lying on a bench, covered in dirt. And he could be on his way as soon as Crockett and Tubbs picked up the telescope. He leaned against the door and looked at his watch. Come on, I got places to be, guys. Day off, remember?

  
A few minutes later, the black Spyder growled to a halt directly in front of the apartment complex courtyard. "Hey Stan, where's your better half?"

"Funny, Crockett. Real funny." Stan detached himself from the side of his beloved Thunderbird and ambled back to the convertible. "Gets funnier every time you say it, too." He'd parked in the only shady spot along the curb, and he couldn't understand how Crockett and Tubbs could stand wearing those jackets in Miami's midday sun. He leaned over and tucked the scope securely behind the passenger seat. "Be good to Priscilla, and she'll be good to you, okay?"

Tubbs turned and stared over his shoulder. "You're kidding. You named your telescope?" Stan gave him a look and straightened back up. "And Sonny, if you must know, Larry's gone off looking for a present for Harriet." Crockett and Tubbs shot a look back and forth, then Crockett peered at Switek over the top of his sunglasses. "For Harriet."

"Yup." Stan continued. "Twelve days, crouched in that stinking van, watching lowlifes do every conceivable thing except what we can nail them for--did I mention the AC's out on the van again? Because it is. Twelve days with no relief and the minute we get a day off? All Larry's concerned about is Harriet. Tell me Sonny, how exactly do you tell if a fish is happy? It's not like they can smile."

Tubbs looked at Stan and then turned to Crockett. "Sonny, does it sound to you like someone's got some issues around here?" Crockett smirked.

"Damn right he's got issues. It's not healthy to be that focused on an animal," Switek commented.

Tubbs turned back to Stan. "I wasn't talking 'bout Zito, man."

Switek glared. "What about you, Sonny? You've got that crocodi--"

"Alligator! Al-li-ga-tor."

"Fine. Six-foot, living, breathing wallet on your boat, but you don't run around doing his Christmas shopping in July."

"Well Stan, it's kinda hard to worry about a creature with a two-foot long jaw and more teeth than a crooked politician. Besides, generally I'm more concerned about what he's done than how he feels about it. But while we're at it, Stanley, do you really wanna talk about Elvis? I mean, here you are running around worshipping a dead--"

Stan shot him a warning look. Crockett stopped mid-sentence, sighed, and looked at the street around him. Housewives sitting on stoops, talking and smoking. Old men sitting on porches, fanning themselves with racing sheets, younger versions of the old men working on cars that were polished to a high gloss. The very picture of normal, for everyone who wasn't them. "Stan?" Crockett said softly, "We've all got somethin' going on that makes us able to do what we do." Switek stubbed a toe into the dried patch of grass at the curb.

"And a pet's a pet," Crockett continued, "I mean, c'mon. The poor guy's house blew up. Lemme tell you something, pal: you take comfort where you can get it. In the end run, everybody, is somebody else's Elvis." He pushed his glasses back up and grinned widely before turning to Rico. "Ya wanna grab some lunch, partner?" Rico looked up at Switek and then returned Crockett's wicked grin. "Yeah. Right, man. Say, I think I'm in the mood for some fish." He smacked his lips and he and Crockett dissolved into laughter. Tubbs looked back at Stan and sobered up. "Hey, take it easy, Switek. It's your day off, remember?" Crockett gunned the engine and as they zoomed away from the curb Stan heard the laughter resume. He watched the Spyder dissolve against the shimmering Miami skyline, then turned and headed back to his car.

  


* * *

In one hand he carried a greasy brown paper bag: fried clams, coleslaw and fries from La Bondenegra, one of the food carts parked along the waterfront like cannons guarding a fort. La Bondenegra had been shut down four times so far by various city enforcement agencies, but Switek maintained that that was exactly what made their food taste so good. Nothing like a little adventure in dining.

He crossed the street towards the small park backed onto an expanse of pure white sand and took a deep breath. Ah, the ocean, he thought. There's nothing like it to clear the head. Say what you want about Miami's crime rate, the city was still home to some premium public beachfront. Switek stopped at the edge of the park and looked around appreciatively. If you've got heat like this, you definitely gotta have water like that, he thought. It wasn't the individual waves he liked, the motion of them, but if you let your eyes relax, all you could see was flat blue water out to the horizon. Level. Constant. Unchanging. Stan barely noticed all the other sightseers and beachgoers streaming by him. He strolled over to a bench under some trees and sat down, stretching one arm along the back and extending a peach-trouserclad leg out in front. He took a deep breath and let his eyes relax.

"He-ey! Switek! What's shakin', mang?"

Okay, so much for that.

"Hey Izzy, how's it---whoa!" Stan turned to greet Izzy and closed his eyes reflexively. "Iz? Please tell me that the heat has gone to my head, and that when I open my eyes, you'll have pants on."

"Whad you talkin' bout, Stan? Is hot out here today. Besides, this here--", Izzy gestured, "--is the lates' style in functional suntanning menswear. I present to you, The Mantanna."

"That's great, Iz. You wear it well." Stan still had his eyes closed. "Now could ya wear it somewhere else?" Switek sighed. Some things will put a man right off his fried clams.

"Come on, Switek, loosen up." Izzy sat down on the bench. "Learn to enjoy the hot tropical sun on your skin, the ocean breezes in your hair..."

"It's not my hair I'm worried about. I'm just sitting here, enjoying the day, trying to eat my lunch--"

"What are those, clam strips? You shouldn't eat those, mang. You're gon' get, mercenary poisoning from those."

"Help yourself, Izzy."

Around a mouthful of fried fish, Izzy asked, "So what brings you out here today, mang? And where's your partner? You two have a lover's quarrel?" He smirked.

Switek glowered and snatched the bag back. "Nah, he's off trying to find a rock for Harriet."

Izzy nodded. "Ah bueno! So your partner finally met The One, huh? Well, I always knew it was jus' a matter of time. That someone would eventually come along who could look pas' the beard and you know--", Izzy gestured again, "--the van and everythin' and finally make him a honest man."

"Izzy?" Switek began, "Harriet? Is a fish-hey! What do you mean, 'the van and everything?'"

Nothin', mang. Forget I said anythin'." The two men ate in silence for a few moments.

"So if I am understanding you correc'ly, your partner, he is buying a diamond for his fish?"

Switek grabbed a handful of fries. "Pretty much."

"And we are no having translation difficulties here? That 'fish' is some new word the kids use for--"

"No, no we are not."

"Well then he should have come straight to me first. If it's one thing I know, it's top of the line aquarium supplies. You know, my cousin Geraldo, he runs the finest tropical salt-water accessory emporium in Southern Florida."

Switek kept munching.

"You don't believe me?"

Switek started back in on the clams.

Izzy produced a dark gray chunk of stone from the pocket of his voluminous, gauzy coverup. "Quality Brazilian quartz, mang. She'll love it."

Switek looked over at the rock Izzy was proffering. "That's a piece of parking lot."

"Parking lot? Are you blind, mang? Look at those sparkles! Jus' like diamonds! I, Izzy Moreno, am insulted. Insulted that you would suggest--"

"Aw can it, Iz. Gimme the rock." Switek held out a hand.

"What? You think these rocks grow on trees?"

Switek reached into his back pocket for his wallet. Well, he thought, now she'll have two rocks.

"Lar? Yello! Anybody home?"  
The apartment was filled with the kind of silence that signaled a lack of breathing, of shifting, of occupancy. But at least it was cooler than outside, Switek thought, walking over to the couch. _Blue Hawaii_ , maybe. Or _The Trouble With Girls_. Man, that one never got old. As his white dress shoes made shallow dents in the living room rug, Stan heard the crunching of glass underfoot. He looked down, and his heart skipped a beat. There on the rug, a lambent orange contrast to the dark blue pattern, was Harriet. Sparkling in the afternoon sun around her were the remains of her fishbowl, and in the middle of it all, a baseball. The pile of magazines and takeout menus on the side table had long since dried, and by now even the water stains were crisped and faded. Switek stood there for a couple seconds, staring down at Harriet, hands at his sides. Then he got moving.

"Hey Stan, how was the beach?"

Switek looked up as his partner came in the front door. Stan lay stretched out on the black couch, hands clasped behind his head. On the small tv across the room, Elvis sang about romance, palm trees and sand to a winsome young Angela Lansbury. "Oh, you know how it goes, Larry. Same old, same old. You've seen one wave, you've seen 'em all." Outside the window, cicadas sung the streetlights on and the city exhaled sweat and car exhaust into the growing darkness. Zito opened the fridge, grabbing a beer and a soda from the bottom shelf and flipping on the kitchen lights as he went. He dug around in one of the drawers for a bottle opener and Stan pushed himself up off the couch. "So what'd you get for your little orange-finned friend here?" He inclined his head at the fishbowl on the counter.

Zito shrugged. "Nothing. Couldn't find anything I liked."

"Nothing?" Stan took the proffered beer. "I thought you owed her the nicest rock money could buy, a rock for your best girl, something like that."

Zito put his hat on the counter and set his brown bag down next to it. He took a swig from his soda. "Walked all over, went to probably five or six pet stores, but I just didn't find anything I knew she'd like, you know? Like I would have known it the minute I saw it, and it just wasn't there." He took another long drink. "So then I got to thinking maybe get her a bigger tank, or a friend, you know, another fish?" He raised his eyebrows questioningly at Stan, who nodded. "But I think I read somewhere that she's the type of fish who'd eat a male of the same kind, and fight with a female, and I'm no expert on fish sex, y'know?" The drink was half-gone now. "So then I just kept walking...I mean, maybe you're right, Stan. She's just a fish, and what could she possibly..."

Stan took the rock out of his pocket hesitantly, and held it out on his palm. In the dingy light of the kitchen, it looked even more like a chunk of parking lot than it had in the sunshine.

"Ah Stan, that's a beaut." Zito picked it up and examined it critically, turning it over in his hands with a half-smile, before reaching gently into the fishbowl and placing it on the bottom. He finished his soda and bent down until his gaze was level with the bowl. The small orange fish inside darted towards him before turning quickly away at the last second and swimming back to the other side, long perfectly formed fins trailing behind. Perfect fins. Zito frowned, and Stan, standing behind him, drew a quiet breath. Zito stood up and looked at Stan, then went to the fridge and pulled out two more drinks. He uncapped them, and handed the beer to his silent partner, the mist from the bottles forming a halo around the two necks. Zito flashed Stan a quick grin and clinked bottles.

"Nice work, partner. I think she really likes it." He turned and walked over to the couch, sinking into the black naughahyde cushions with a sigh. Switek stood frozen, staring at the spot Zito had just occupied. He looked over at the fishbowl, closed his eyes, let his breath out slowly, and turned around with a smile on his face.

"I don't know about you, partner, but I could sure go for a pizza right now. I don't know what it is that makes pizza and the King go so well together, but there ya go."

"Sure, sounds great. The usual?"

"Yeah, I'll go ahead and phone it in. By the way, have you ever seen this one from the beginning, Lar?" Stan waved his beer in the direction of the tv. "'Cause if not, you're in for a real treat."

Zito looked up at his partner standing in the blue-green archway to the kitchen. "Maybe. But we can always watch it again." He pushed a collection of fast-food wrappers and newspapers off the coffee table, put his feet up, sank back into the cushions and got comfortable.


End file.
